The Ritual
by Roozette
Summary: When Neville can't handle being The-Boy-Who-Lived, Harry helps him out.


AUTHOR'S NOTE: I spend far too much time on Twitter. Truly, it's sad. But when my friend Bets is upset because Cuzzy was being mean to her and the other Bizans...well, clearly he needs to die in fanfiction. So, here you are, Betsy my dearest! Fae reassurred me that I shouldn't be worried over how happy it made me to kill him off...

*blows kisses*

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Hermione's hands were shaking so badly that it took her three times to recite the incantation and light the wick on the candle before her. Almost desperately, she turned to her best friend, her wide brown eyes filled with tears, terror, and pleading. "Please don't ask me to do this."

Harry Potter placed his hands comfortingly on her shoulders. "Hermione… It's the only thing that can save us all."

"How?" Hermione gripped Harry's arms tightly. "Why can't we just let Neville do it? Things happen for a _reason_, Harry, and meddling around with something like _this_…" She shook her head, stepping closer to wrap her arms around Harry's waist. "What if you die, Harry? I couldn't _stand_ it! I would have died here at Hogwarts without you!"

Draco Malfoy sighed, stepping closer to his best friend and his pet Gryffindor. "Honestly, Hermione. You Gryffindors are so melodramatic." His thin face was pale, however, belying his calm and derisive words. "We all know Potter has a martyr complex, and Longbottom, well… he doesn't."

"It's true, Hermione." Neville looked up from where he had been sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest. He was far too thin and pale, his kind face looking drawn and haggard. "How many more people have to die because of me? My parents were just the beginning." He scratched the rune imbedded on his left arm, a reversed Kennaz, the rune for impending loss, proclaiming him as The-Boy-Who-Lived and the one who defeated Voldemort as a baby. "Dumbledore told me the prophesy," he continued quietly. "It could have been me or Harry. And we all know who the more powerful wizard is…" Though all in the room had heard it before, were thinking the same, they stiffened nonetheless, reflecting back on what had brought them to this time and place.

On Halloween of 1981, The Dark Lord had gone to Neville Longbottom's house and murdered his parents. Somehow…the baby had survived, with the oddly-shaped rune on his arm the only evidence that something had happened. Raised by his grandmother, most had silently despaired at the limited magical prowess of the child. The day he had received his Hogwarts letter, his grandmother had burst into happy tears and immediately assured him he would be as great as his parents one day.

On the other side of the spectrum, Harry Potter grew up with his parents, Auror James Potter and Healer Lily Potter. At the age of five he turned his teacher's hair blue, at the age of seven he apparrated, and at the age of ten he turned water into wine and gave it to the Weasley twins as payback for a prank they had pulled. It was no surprise to anyone when he received his Hogwarts letter. No, the real surprise had been at the opening feast, when Neville Longbottom made it into Gryffindor and Harry Potter was sorted into Slytherin.

In their first year of school, Hermione Granger was floundering. She had no friends, limited social skills, and was dreadfully shy. Harry began to pay her to take notes in History of Magic for him, as he simply could _not_ stay awake in that class. Then Harry hexed Ron Weasley for mocking her. A week later he sent Marcus Flint to the Hospital Wing for trying to bully her into doing his work for him. By the time he had finished serving his detentions, Hermione was completely devoted to him. Draco Malfoy, while not intending to like a _Potter_, no matter that he had somehow managed to make it into Slytherin, couldn't ignore him after their fight that landed Harry on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Or for much longer after Harry rescued him from a troll their first Halloween at school, when Draco had been looking for the Weasley twins in order to find a way to sneak into Gryffindor tower.

After Christmas, the unlikely friends caught Neville crying in front of a mirror with something funny written across the top. Harry, having been raised in the magical world with an Auror for a parent, was instantly suspicious of a mirror that showed you what you wanted to see versus what actually was, and promptly destroyed it. While serving detention for being caught after curfew, a dark shadow had tried to accost them all in the Forbidden Forest. Neville had dropped to the ground, clutching his left forearm in pain, and Harry had lit the cape of the man on fire. Professor Quirrell suspiciously vanished from the school, Neville spent three days in the Hospital Wing, and Harry ended his first year with a bad-ass reputation and the House Cup.

Their second year, Ginny Weasley handed Harry a diary at the opening feast, saying how her brothers had told her of Harry destroying a magic mirror, and was it right that her diary talked back to her? Harry bought her a new journal, Draco owled his father for some slightly shady Dark Arts books, and Hermione discovered the fact that writing in the journal made the writer sleepy. Draco contradicted her… the writer was not just sleepy, he or she became magically drained. In deep admiration that her research revealed Tom Riddle to have been a Head Boy, Hermione argued against destroying it and immediately began having a conversation within the book. When Harry followed her to the Chamber of Secrets and destroyed it, however, Hermione lost her innocent belief in authority figures, and Harry woke up in the Hospital Wing with the knowledge he had become a Parselmouth. Neville, on the other hand, enjoyed a quiet year with limited attention received from anyone.

Bellatrix Lestrange escaped from Azkaban a month before their third year started, and threw the entire wizarding world into chaos. For the first time, Neville was expected to act like The-Boy-Who-Lived…but he didn't know how. The Dementors made him remember his mother screaming, causing him to curl upon himself in terror. On the train, Harry was able to produce a white vapor, the beginning stages of the Patronus Charm, and kept his compartment safe before succumbing to unconsciousness. By the end of the year, Harry could produce a fully corporeal Patronus, and Neville and Ron Weasley nearly died when Bellatrix broke into Gryffindor tower. Hoping to inspire Neville to greatness, Dumbledore showed the boy the prophesy. Unfortunately, so close after nearly dying, Neville flipped out and told the prophecy to Harry. Thus the plan to switch places was born.

Draco scowled at the wall, his arm tightening protectively around his best friend's waist. "It's a bit late to back out now," he muttered, looking around at the precisely drawn diamond on the floor, the candles waiting to be lit, and the Squib tied up in the corner.

"Yeah," Harry agreed quietly, flicking the barest of glances at the boy as well.

"I just don't see why we have to kill that boy," Hermione whispered, tears continuing to roll unchecked down her face.

"You can't just transfer power from one wizard to another." Draco's explanation sounded tired and well-practiced. "It's a Dark ritual, drawing upon one's life force. Unless you want _Neville_ or _Harry_ to die, then… well, best that it be a Squib, really."

Harry frowned unhappily, breaking away from his friends to walk across the room. The brunette boy had long ago stopped crying, and watched him approach with a look of tired resignation. Harry smiled at the boy, reaching up to remove the gag from his mouth. "What's your name?"

"Does it matter?" Fresh tears brimmed in brown eyes. "I heard you, you know. I know you're going to kill me no matter what. Just because _he," _he turned to Neville with a look of loathing. Neville refused to raise his head from staring at his feet. "He doesn't want to act like The-Boy-Who-Lived anymore." Harry continued to watch the struggling boy quietly. "Chris," he sighed at last. "But my friends call me Cuzzy."

"Cuzzy." Harry nodded. "I'm sorry it's come to this for you. I didn't know you would be the one that Neville grabbed. I… well, I can't imagine what you're feeling right now. But I promise we will never forget you or the sacrifice you are making today."

The tears fell as the boy lost control of himself. "It's ok," he whispered, choking out a laugh at Harry's look of frank disbelief. "No, really, it is. I'm a Squib. I'm used to being treated like garbage." Hermione let out a sob, burying her face in her hands. Draco kicked the ground before looking away and fiddling with the candles. Neville still refused to look up from his shoes, his body trembling violently. "Just…Harry, right?" Harry nodded. Cuzzy nodded back. "Just promise me you'll beat _Him_, ok? Promise me you won't let him come back. I hear the whispers…I know he's not really gone…"

"Course I will." Harry patted Cuzzy on the shoulder gently, before pulling out his wand and levitating the boy to the center of the diamond.

"Right," Hermione's voice shook. "We should begin if we're going to do this." No one contradicted her, causing her shoulders to slump slightly. "Harry, at one end of the diamond, Neville, you go to the other. Draco and I will face across."

"Why is it a diamond again?" Neville asked as he took his place.

"Your scar is in the shape of a reversed Kennaz," she explained, beginning to light the candles. "That indicated a hidden knowledge or power. In order to transfer the power to Harry, we need to make a sacred enclosure. The Ingwaz diamond-shaped enclosure, drawn as two Kennaz runes placed together, is most effective for magic, especially love magic. The ritual will take the necessary magic from Neville, run it through the vessel…" she faltered, eyes skirting apologetically over Cuzzy, "and transfer the power to Harry. At which point the ritual will be complete. We'll need to rest afterwards, but should be at full strength within two days."

"Good thing it's a Friday," Draco muttered. He clasped hands with Harry, smiling reassuringly. "It's not too late to back out, you know." His voice was soft, almost pleading.

Harry just sighed, squeezing Draco's hand tightly. "I can't." He shrugged. "If it's true that _He_ is coming back, and his followers certainly seem to think so, then I need to do what I can to help."

"I'm sorry, Harry." Neville sounded defeated. "I'm so sorry I can't be strong enough."

"It's all right, Nev. Besides," he smiled crookedly, 'it'll throw the Dark Lord off to find himself after me after thinking it was you all these years, right? An advantage for our side if ever there was one."

"Yes, well…" Hermione took her place on the side of the diamond. "We should do this if we're going to do this." Still she fidgeted slightly. "Are you _sure_ we can't ask Professor Snape for a better option?"

"Are you kidding?" Draco snorted. "Do you think _any_ teacher would allow us to do this if they had the faintest inkling what we were up to?"

Joining hands, the four teenagers took their places around the diamond and began to chant. The candles flickered, a cold breeze beginning to swirl around the students. Their hands tightened together in response. Making a choking sound deep in his throat, Neville's knees buckled. He collapsed, gurgling and panting for breaths, while the rune on his left forearm split open and began to bleed. On the floor, Cuzzy's body jerked, his mouth opening in a silent scream of agony, blood beginning to drip from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. Harry, Hermione, and Draco watched them both in wide-eyed shock, fear making their voices warble and break on the words they were chanting, their tightly-clasped hands slippery with nervous sweat. And then Harry gasped, his back arching. It looked like someone had taken a scalpel and drawn a precise lightning bolt on his forehead, the rune of great power and victory.

For a moment the room went utterly still, every sound seeming to freeze until all that could be heard were muffled sobs and panting breaths. But once the blood began flowing down Harry's face, Draco's eyes went wide. Hardly aware of what he was doing, he yanked Harry to his side, catching his best friend before he collapsed to the floor. The pattern broke, Draco's hand slipping out of Neville's, the sudden movement of Harry's body throwing Hermione off balance. Draco slipped on the blood pooling from Cuzzy's no longer moving body, wrapping his arms even tighter around Harry, as though he could help his friend through sheer force of will.

A tremendous bang rocked the room they were in. Hermione screamed, both hands covering her mouth when the image of Harry and Draco rippled, both boys vanishing for a moment, only to reappear suspended above the diamond. All of the candles went out. Neville slid into unconsciousness, the blood on his arm congealing and clotting. And then everything just…stopped. The candles re-lit gently, spreading a soft glow around the room. Hermione stared in utter horror. Cuzzy was dead, his blood spreading thickly over the floor like rich red silk. Neville was lying on the floor, his gurgling breaths the only sign he was breathing. The bodies floating above the diamond lowered, until Harry was draped half-across Draco's body, the blood on his forehead dripping onto Draco's shirt. The blond himself was perfectly still, his face as pale as death.

Sobbing, Hermione tripped over Cuzzy's body, shoving him out of the way to reach her friends. "Harry! Draco! Please, oh please…" She continued to chant, crying, unable to catch her breath properly as her trembling fingers found the pulse beating in their throats. "Please, oh please," she whispered brokenly. "Oh please, oh please…"

Minutes, hours, days flew by… and then Draco took a deep gasping breath and Harry opened his eyes.

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Seventeen-year-old Harry Potter was completely drained.

As he stood in the Headmaster's office with Ron and Hermione, clutching his newly fixed wand while the Headmaster's portraits continued to applaud and cheer, all he could think about was going to Gryffindor tower to sleep. Perhaps eat a sandwich first. Maybe have a bath. Yep, sleep, food, hygiene. Just the things he needed to convince himself this nightmare was over. That he wouldn't wake up in a tent tomorrow. That the Dark Lord, the one person who had cursed and haunted his life since he was born, was no longer in his head, his heart, his _life_. It was over. Completely over. And all he had to do was become the Master of Death in order to achieve that.

He followed Ron and Hermione out of the office, listening to their idle and exhausted chatter. Everyone had suffered this long, long year. Everyone had toiled, made sacrifices, lost sleep and weight and sanity. Was it worth it? Harry thought about watching Oliver stacking up the dead bodies, thought of Fred falling with a smile still on his face, thought of the screams and the losses and the residual smell of sulfur and blood that seemed soaked into the very core of Hogwarts. Could they recover from this?

Walking down the stairs to the Great Hall to inform Mrs. Weasley not to worry if she couldn't find them, that they would be sleeping in the Tower, he ignored the twinge on his forehead at first. The Dark Lord…_Voldemort_…surely the ban was no longer in effect? _Voldemort_ was dead. Surely his head would continue to ache for awhile, right? Aurors were in the hallway, leading the Malfoy family to the front doors of the school. He watched them, idly rubbing at his scar, and blinked in surprise when Draco Malfoy suddenly screamed and doubled over, clutching his stomach.

Narcissa screamed, breaking away from the Auror she had been sedately following to rush to her son's side. "What did you do?" she screamed, as Draco fell to the floor. "Why did you hurt him? We weren't resisting! You took our wands! Why did you hurt him?" Trembling hands smoothed blond hair away from wide-open pain-filled eyes. "Draco, baby, look at me. Look at Mum! It's all right. Where does it hurt?"

Lucius looked broken, collapsing to his knees beside his wife and son. He looked around the gathering swarm of people. "Please. If you need to hurt anyone, hurt me. Please don't hurt my son. He hasn't done anything!"

Nonplussed, Harry exchanged looks with Hermione and Ron. "What do you think…" he broke off, gasping for breath, when the pain in his head suddenly intensified. He could feel blood beginning to drip onto his hand, could feel each stair as he tumbled down them to land on the cold stone floor, could hear frantic screams as people realized their savior was lying on the ground in just as much pain as Draco Malfoy.

"Harry!" Hermione was by his side in an instant. Ron appearing mere seconds later. "Are you ok? What is it?"

He couldn't speak. His head was on fire, his back beginning to arch as his muscles tried to redirect the pain. He screamed, once, listening to the growing chaos around him… and then everything went dark.

He must have been moved to the Hospital Wing, he mused sleepily, consciousness beginning to return to him. He could still smell blood and…candles? Who lit candles? It was much quieter, he mused, though his head still felt like it was on fire. The bed he was lying on gave a great gasping breath, and Harry's eyes opened when he realized he was lying on a person and not a bed.

Hermione…no, a _much_ younger Hermione was kneeling before him, her skirt drenched in blood, sobbing with relief as she noticed his eyes opening. What the hell? Everything was fuzzy, his vision tunneled. Still, he tried his best to look around his surrounding. The first thing he noticed was Neville, arm bleeding, unconscious on the floor. His breathing sounded off. Labored. And the arm that was bleeding was the same arm that Death Eaters accepted the Dark Mark on. What the hell? Next to Neville lay the body of someone he didn't know, clearly dead, his blood spread out like a blanket around him. Was that who's blood was on Hermione's skirt?

"Potter?" He turned his head at the raspy voice, still too sore and bewildered to be shocked when he discovered himself lying on top of Draco Malfoy. The blond looked utterly confused, raising the hand that had been previously wrapped around Harry's waist to rub absently at his temple. "What happened?"

"You broke the circle!" Hermione's voice was shrill with hysteria and tears. "Harry started bleeding and you grabbed him, causing the circle to break and the magic to go crazy! There was a really big bang and then all the candles went out. You've been unconscious for," she checked her watch with trembling hands, "twenty minutes! I didn't know if you were alive or dead!" Giving in, Hermione burst into tears and flung herself at the two boys.

Draco struggled into a sitting position, reaching out to catch Harry's arm before he hit the ground and helping him to sit as well. Gray eyes swept the room, taking in the dead body, the candles, the diamond drawn on the floor, the opened books, and Harry's bleeding scar. His breath hitched. "What did you do?" His voice rose slightly, his head jerking roughly to the body lying before him. "Who's that?"

"That's Cuzzy." Hermione sniffed, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, unmindful of the smear of blood she left across her cheekbone. "He was the sacrifice, remember?"

Harry looked around in rising horror, his vision improving as the ache in his head subsided to a more tolerable and familiar ache. And, oh boy, did he not want to think about _that_. "We killed him?" Hermione nodded, moving over to check on Neville now that she was reassured of Harry and Draco's health. "Why would we do that?"

Neville groaned, blinking his eyes open dizzily as Hermione helped him sit up. He leaned against the girl heavily, his eyes zeroing in on Harry's forehead. "Blimey," he whispered in awe. "It worked!"

Harry and Draco exchanged confused glanced. Harry shifting slightly away once he realized precisely who he had been leaning against. "What worked?"

Wiping his arm with frantic fingers, Neville ignored the question, wiping his smooth left forearm in wonder and excitement. "I'm not The-Boy-Who-Lived anymore!"

"What are you on about, Longbottom?" Draco looked irritated and sore, staggering to his feet to stare in confusion at the Slytherin crest on Harry's robe. "Potter's The-Boy-Who-Lived, you idiot. He always has been."

"Are you feeling ok, Draco?" Hermione asked timidly. "Only…the whole purpose of this exercise was to make Harry the savior instead of Neville." She stared between Harry and Draco, biting her lip in concern. "You shouldn't have broken the circle."

"Circle…" Harry trailed off, climbing to his feet and taking a more thorough look around. He was…shorter. And when an already short boy gets shorter, it's rather hard to miss. To top it off, Hermione, Neville, and even Malfoy looked shorter and younger. What the hell had happened? He looked again at where Neville was clutching his left arm and crying tears of relief, to Hermione's pale and worried face, to _Draco Malfoy_ of all people looking at him with rising horror. "Are you saying we just completed a Dark ritual…complete with sacrifice…in order for me to _become_ The-Boy-Who-Lived?" Hermione nodded, pulling her wand to carefully cast diagnostic spells on Harry.

Draco went very, very pale. "You mean… He's still alive?"

"Well, that's the rumor!" Hermione sounded slightly impatient as she continued casting spells. And then she smiled, and Harry felt something deep inside of him sink to the bottom of his feet. She looked pleased. Like she had just aced a test. "And judging by the jump in your magical core, Harry, I think it was a successful ritual!" Her smile faded as she looked at the dead body beside her. "Sorry, Cuzzy. We won't forget your sacrifice."

"Thank you, Harry," Neville repeated. He was still sitting on the floor clutching his unblemished arm. "Thank you so much. I never could have fought him the way you can."

Harry smiled weakly, extraordinarily aware of Draco swearing fluently beside him, as he felt his carefully structured plans for his future come crumbling down around him. Though, to be perfectly honest, sleep, food, and hygiene still seemed like a good idea._HeH_


End file.
